In Between
by hushlovehush
Summary: General goings on between Todd and Lovett. Yep, I updated.
1. Mind Games

_This is my first Sweeney fic, so please bear with me. We're not in revival- world, however, Sweeney is very Michael Cerveris-esque in appearance and demeanor. Lovett's characterization and appearance would be closest to that of Patti LuPone in the 2001 concert._

_  
This woman could be the death of him_.

Sometimes he watched her when she had her back to him; watched her scrubbing dishes or rolling dough, and every once in a while he could fool himself into thinking she was Lucy. On occasion she even hummed under her breath like Lucy used to do. With her back to him he could fancy her tangled mess of auburn curls into Lucy's flowing blond locks; her hands, scratched and rough from work, into Lucy's delicate, soft ones; the shrill tune she hummed into a brighter melody that Lucy might have known. But just as he'd begun to believe it, she would turn around and jolt him from his reverie. She wasn't Lucy. She would never be Lucy.

In the daytime it was easy to hate her…or to dismiss her, at least. There were other things to be done, and he could busy himself upstairs without having to see hide nor hair of her if it was a busy day (and these days, it usually was). Nights were harder. They had taken to sitting together in his room, he reading or writing and she sewing or knitting or sometimes doing nothing at all. It wasn't that he minded her company, for he didn't, but he often felt he needed to guard himself around her…for his own sake and possibly hers. She might not be beautiful as Lucy but she knew how to tempt him—parading around in her frills-and-lace robe in the mornings, leaning close to him and breathing in his ear while he worked on the bodies down in the cellar. And he hated himself for giving in, for betraying his Lucy with the likes of…her.


	2. Slicing Onions

Albert Lovett had been stern, darkly handsome, and quiet. They were in love at first but theirs, as all young love, soured with time and age. Married at the mere age of eighteen, Nellie Adams Lovett helped her husband run his baker's shop, and upon his death it became her own. The barber and his wife came not long after.

And now here they were, she and Mr. Todd. Benjamin…she longed to call him by his true name, and had been so bold as to do so once—and only once, for he had come very close to hitting her and might have succeeded had she not backed away so quickly. So for now Mr. Todd—or, when she was feeling playful (which was often enough), Mr. T—would have to do. Of course that would change when they married. Mrs. Nellie Todd…or would she be Mrs. Nellie Barker? Nellie Todd sounded better, she thought, but that could be left up to him.

She put away the last of the dishes, humming softly. Mr. Todd was in the cellar, finishing with things for the day. They had spoken only briefly during business hours but he had seemed in fairly high spirits; she was positive she had caught him whistling on his way down the stairs. She loved to have him in a good mood. It made things so much easier.

Dinner would be vegetable soup, one of the few dishes she made that Mr. Todd actually liked. His footsteps sounded on the stairs just as she'd begun to chop the onions.

"Good turnout today, love?"

"Fine." His reply was clipped; Lovett realized she must have overestimated his mood.

"Vegetable soup for dinner, I thought. I know you like it. You do like it, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I like it." He was sitting at the table, chin cupped in hand, staring off at nothing.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. T?" She turned to face him, running the blade of the knife slowly between her fingers.

"Huh?"

"You look like you're thinking. What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing of importance, I assure you."

"Very well," she said with a sigh and turned back to her cutting board. The last small bit of onion slipped beneath her fingers, the sharp edge of the knife coming down hard on the underside of her other hand. She let out a small yelp of pain and dropped the knife.

"Here," said Todd, ripping a strip of fabric from Mrs. Lovett's apron. "Sit down, come on." She obeyed; she was a bit lightheaded from the pain and the blood—funny, she thought, she could mop up puddles of blood on the floor upstairs just fine but when the blood she had to look at was her own it was an entirely different matter. Mr. Todd was kneeling beside her, carefully wrapping the thin cotton around the gash on her palm.

"There," he said when he finished, "leave that on for a couple of days."

She pursed her lips into a mock pout. "Kiss and make it better?"

He lifted her injured hand to his lips and lightly kissed her fingers. A chill ran the course of Lovett's spine; as always when he showed any hint of affection toward her. With her free hand she clawed at his shirt collar and firmly pressed her lips against his.

"Go up and get some rest," he told her, cupping her chin in his calloused, oversized palm. "That'll be hurting you for a while."

She stood and walked to the stairs, stopping there at the bottom and turning to look back at him. She waited until his eyes locked with hers, then held out her hand. Silence hung in the air for several seconds until finally, with a sigh, he allowed himself to be led upstairs.


	3. No Way Out?

"Johanna!" He was sitting up, breathing hard and sweating, bolted from a dead sleep. The dream was the same as every night. Johanna and Lucy—he could see them being taken away but he was locked in a cell, no way out. No way out.

Sweeney Todd rubbed his eyes, dry and crusted from sleep. It was a chilly night and under his breath he cursed Mrs. Lovett for having monopolized the blankets. As usual she was out cold; he'd come to learn that she was a heavy sleeper as even his worst mid-nightmare outbursts did not wake her. He tugged at the top quilt until he had just enough to cover himself. Lovett stirred a bit, moving closer to him, and with a sigh he flopped onto his side. No way out. The nightmare played over again, rang true in his mind. No way out.

At dawn he forced himself to get out of bed. He had offered to take over early morning pie baking duties while Mrs. Lovett's injured hand was on the mend, a gesture he had made without really knowing why. Somewhere deep down he supposed he pitied her just the slightest bit, as one might pity an animal. Lucy would have been proud of him for doing this as she had pitied Lovett a great deal. To do otherwise, of course, wouldn't have been in her nature. Todd clearly recalled her referring to Mrs. Lovett as "that poor woman," even suggesting they invite her for supper some evening. Odd, though, he could hardly recall anything about Mrs. Lovett then…he didn't remember the way she looked, how she dressed, anything she said. Lucy had been his world. Lovett had probably been the last to see Lucy alive. He'd thought of this before…too many times, and it always angered him. _Stupid woman_. She could have helped Lucy. Could have saved her, even.

"Morning, love." That sickening sing-song chirp of hers.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lovett," he replied through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes on the dough he was kneading.

"Sleep well?" From behind she wrapped her arms about him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his neck.

"Get off me." He tried to go on kneading the dough, but her fingers laced through his, making the job impossible.

"Oh, come now…" Her lips brushed his neck again, and in an instant he had her by the waist, backed up against the table.

"Let me be!" Todd growled. It was all he could do not to hit her. Instead he stared at her, fuming, wanting to scold her for letting his Lucy die.

Lovett looked undoubtedly terrified, gripping the edge of the table tight with both hands, tears glassing her sleep-crusted eyes. A pitiful-sounding sob escaped her throat and she pushed past him to scurry upstairs, the harsh slam of her bedroom door echoing through the shop seconds later. It wasn't the first time.


	4. A Ring

Figuring numbers by the oil lamp was no less than grueling, but had come to pass as one of Mrs. Lovett's most treasured parts of her day, for it was time she and Mr. Todd spent huddled together at the kitchen table and oddly enough, the time when Mr. Todd seemed most at ease.

She rubbed her tired eyes and pushed the stack of papers toward him. "Your turn. It all looked right to me but you'd best check it over anyway."

The figures were right; she knew that. She'd always been good with numbers. But she loved to watch Todd work, his head bowed over the papers, eyes darting from figure to figure. With a sigh she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, watching his strong hand move the pencil across the page. Subconsciously her gaze drifted to the gold band he still wore on his third finger. Lucy's matching one had been easy to swipe; she'd grown so thin in her state of delirium that the thin gold band all but fell right off her finger. For such a small piece it had fetched a good amount at the pawnbroker's down the block. She could have sold those razors, too, and certainly the thought had crossed her mind, but she never was able to bring herself to do it. Of course, that had turned out to be for the best. Mr. Todd prized those razors above anything.

"Well done, Mrs. Lovett," he proclaimed, pushing the paper and pencil away. "Our best day yet this month."

"What are you going to buy with our money, Mr. T?"

"I've not given it much thought. I suppose I should."

"You could buy something nice for me." Under the table she slid her bare foot up the side of his calf.

"Such as?"

"Well, this old robe's awfully worn…and of course I haven't had a new dress in ages…" She flicked her gaze up to him. He was staring off but had his arm about her, absently stroking her shoulder. "Or you could buy me a ring. I had to sell my wedding ring, you know, after Mr. Lovett passed."

Todd raised an eyebrow. "I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you."

"So you'll buy a new one for me, then?"

"You can buy one for yourself. We agreed to split the money between us."

"But it isn't the same to buy it for myself…it doesn't mean anything unless it's from someone else." She chewed on her lower lip for a second, studying his expression. "And besides, isn't it about time we were married? This is hardly proper, Mr. Todd."

"Being proper should be the least of your concerns, pet."

Lovett sighed and gave him the slightest kick in the shin under the table. This certainly was not going the way she'd planned. "How much work is left downstairs?"

"Enough, but you're not helping until that hand is healed."

"Oh, it's fine, I'm sure." His concern over the whole knife and hand accident never ceased to surprise her. It had been almost a week, but the wound was slow to heal and still quite painful. His doting on her was a pleasant surprise, but she hated not being able to do her part in their daily work as it ultimately meant less time with him.

"Let's take a look at it, then." Without waiting for her to comply, he took her hand in his own and gingerly unwrapped the homemade bandage. Though it still made her a little dizzy, she forced herself to look at the wound. The surrounding skin was pinkish and puffy, and tender when Todd's thumb brushed it. "Does that hurt?" Lovett nodded. "It might be infected. I'll go down to the apothecary in the morning and get something for it."

She waited patiently while he reapplied the bandage. "Well, I guess it's off to bed with me, then, if I can't help downstairs. Would you mind taking these pins out of my hair, love? It's awfully hard with one hand." He obliged, and she smiled to herself. "You never answered me about the ring, Mr. T. Will you think about it? Buying one for me?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll think about it."


	5. The Day Off

The faint light streaming in under the door meant it was already dawn, and Sweeney Todd had yet to go to bed. The more he stared at the papers in front of him, the more the numbers seemed to run together and turn to nonsense. It seemed every time he added and checked it through, he got a different sum than the time before. Exasperated, he simply laid his head down, making a resounding thud on the wood table.

It had been a long night. Mrs. Lovett had gone to bed early, complaining of a headache, leaving him with the full night's work. That in itself wouldn't have been a problem—since Lovett had been out of commission due to her injured hand, Todd had become quite proficient at preparing the bodies on his own—except there was twice as much to be done, as the previous evening they had gotten into the ale and blatantly ignored their nightly ritual. It had been fun, he had to admit that. He'd forgotten what it was like to be drunk, so completely drunk that everything seemed surreal and nothing mattered…and what it was like to wake up the next morning and not remember a thing. Lovett hadn't been in his room then, but her musty perfume scent was on his pillow. Todd had certainly felt the effects of the ale that morning, and knew Lovett had too though she refused to admit it. After-effects or not, at any rate somehow he had ended up the one finishing all the leftover work and staying up all night, trying hopelessly to make sense of these damn numbers for the past hour.

Five minutes later he decided he was giving up. He would let Mrs. Lovett deal with the numbers later. The sun was up now, and though he knew he should start the first round of pies he couldn't work up the energy to do it. He would sleep for an hour and then start his day. Never before had the prospect of sleep so excited him. It was really only a nap, but a much-needed one at that. He practically raced up the stairs to his room, only to find his bed already occupied. Mrs. Lovett was lying smack in the middle of the mattress, one arm flung dramatically over her eyes, every last blanket wrapped about her. For a moment Todd just stared at her. Why in the name of God was she sleeping in his bed? He leaned against the doorframe in defeat and rubbed his eyes.

"Mrs. Lovett," he said impatiently, letting the words drone on. Nothing. He moved closer to the bed. "Mrs. Lovett." Still nothing. With a heavy sigh he sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her wrist to his lips.

"That's nice," she muttered, finally stirring a little. "Mmm…"

"Wake up, Nellie," he said plainly, dropping her arm.

The use of her first name startled her awake, eyes wide open. "What is it, love?"

"You're in my bed."

"It's freezing in my room," she pouted. "And you've not even come to bed yet."

"No, Mrs. Lovett, I haven't come to bed yet, because I've been working all night. It is now morning and I would very much like to come to bed."

"But it's morning now, you just said it yourself."

"I also said I haven't gone to sleep yet. I am going to sleep now. For an hour."

"What if we just took the day off? Just didn't open the shops? You could sleep all day then."

Damn it, she knew how to try his patience. "Don't be absurd."

"You're not any fun, Mr. T," she huffed as she got up and stalked past him. "Not any fun at all."

"Wake me in an hour." Todd stretched out on the bed, too tired to bother with the blankets. In no time he was jolted by Mrs. Lovett's abrasive rapping on the door.

He had barely opened his eyes when she poked her head in. "Hour's up, love."

"Give me a minute." He blinked a few times and rubbed his burning eyes.

"We can still take the day for ourselves. Sleep all you want."

"I don't intend to waste a day, Mrs. Lovett." That he meant, yet he still had not been able to work up the energy to move from the bed.

"But think about it, we've been working every day of the week—even on Sundays—for months now! I'm near exhausted and you've got to be, too."

Todd sighed heavily. The lady had a point, for once, and in his groggy state he simply lacked the will to argue any further. "Fine. The day off. Just this once." He began to nod off again almost immediately, and was vaguely aware of Lovett cozying up beside him.

Though his eyes were closed, he could feel her watching him, taking him in. If there was one thing that he did admire about her, it was her audacity. She seemed to have no qualms about sharing a bed with a man who killed, on average, five or six people a day, and this amused Todd to no end. Surely she must have questioned her own safety in his presence, or else felt herself exempt from his rage. He figured she had to either be completely fearless or completely delusional, and he never could decide which. Of course he had entertained the thought of killing her, several times. It would be so easy…so easy to take her in his arms, put a hand about her neck and squeeze every last breath out of her. He could do it even now as she lay next to him, and she would never see it coming. But he had decided long ago that doing away with her would be impractical, as she was at present an asset to him. She was asleep now, her head resting on his chest. It would be so easy…he ran his thumb over the back of her neck, along the base of her hairline. Her hair was pinned up, as usual, and out of sheer boredom Todd began removing the pins. Before long he had dozed off, falling asleep with one hand entwined in Lovett's hair, the other firmly planted on the back of her neck.


	6. Delusions

**So back when I started this story…many moons ago…it was just a series of vignettes, and the POV was going to switch with each chapter (as you see if you've read the previous chapters). However…when I went to update, this just sort of came out. And it doesn't follow the POV-switching rule, because the last chapter was Todd's POV and this one is as well. The following will be Lovett's, though, and unlike previous chapters it will directly connect to this one. So it's sort of a…two-part vignette, if you will. Anyway, I hope you guys really enjoy this because I'm updating just for you—this story has been dead for almost two years, and I've been getting so many reviews and favorite alerts lately that it really encouraged me to come back to it. If I get more reviews after this chapter, I'll continue as best I can once school picks back up (my last semester of college, thank God!). Enjoy!**

* * *

He walked back to the shop in a daze. Surely his mind had been playing tricks on him. Too much work, not enough sleep. She was nothing more than a lunatic beggar…but he knew his Lucy's eyes as sure as his own, and he knew he had just looked into them.

The shop was quiet when he returned. Slowly he sank into a chair, resting his elbows on the table. It couldn't be. Lucy was dead; she'd been dead for years now.

"What's happened, love?" Mrs. Lovett's voice startled him. "You look like you've just met a ghost!" She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, clad in that flimsy nightgown she always wore and a worn, fraying silk robe he'd never seen. Her hair was still pinned up but a few strands had fallen loose around her face…she looked almost beautiful, like a lady ought to look.

He found himself staring at her, but in his mind all he could see was the beggar…Lucy's eyes, maybe even her mouth? Or maybe he was imagining that?

"Mister T?" Lovett again. She was beside him now, her palm pressed against his forehead. "Aren't you feeling all right, love? You're a little bit warm."

"I need you to tell me about Lucy," he blurted. "About how she died."

"Oh, come now…you don't want to hear about that."

He let out a heavy sigh. Lovett had her hands at the base of his neck, kneading his tired muscles, and though he hated to admit it, it felt good. Overworked…he knew he was overworked, and that coupled with a lack of sleep must have produced this delusion. "Never mind," he heard himself say.

"There now, I didn't think so." She lowered her lips to barely brush his ear. "What brought up Lucy, anyhow?"

"Nothing," he leaned back in the chair, letting himself relax into her hands, "It was just a…a thought." She was gone. Lucy was gone, and no amount of wishing or talking of her could bring her back.

"Do you really still think of her, Mister T?" Lovett's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Yes, of course."

"I mean, now that you've got the shop and all. And…you've got me." The tone of her voice angered him instantly. How dare she compare herself…He had hold of her wrist before even giving it half a thought, and yanked her around the side of the chair. "I didn't mean anything by it," she sputtered, "You know that, you know I didn't…" She blathered on, but he was no longer hearing her. Now, like so many times before, he could rid himself of her for good. Hold her still with one hand, pin her to the table and squeeze his other hand tight around her neck. He _could_ do it, so why didn't he? Looking at her now, in light of what—not what, but who—he was more than certain he had seen on the street, it was becoming clear. Save for Johanna, Lovett was his last remaining connection to his Lucy. Lovett was tangible to him; Johanna was not. No matter how he despised the woman at times, how much she grated on him, he simply couldn't bring himself to cut that string. The last thing that bound him to Lucy… "Mister T?" Lovett's voice reached him again; he relaxed his grip on her wrist. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"Mrs. Lovett," he began in a voice he barely recognized as his own, "I need you to tell me about her. About Lucy."

She gave him a curious stare, tilting her head ever so slightly. "I thought we just went through this…"

"Have I ever asked anything of you?" When she didn't respond, he drew her closer, so that she was nearly in his lap. "Nellie," he knew that using her first name would likely elicit a response, "have I ever asked anything of you?"

"No," her voice dropped to a register much lower than usual; she wasn't looking him in the eyes, "No, you've never asked anything of me." When she raised her head, her eyes were glassy. "Is this what you want? You want to know how she was after you…after the judge got to her?" He nodded, and she subsequently pulled her wrist from his grip. "Very well, then. But I don't know just what you're expecting."


End file.
